Deceit
by Sophia2012
Summary: Little Neal one-shot.


I was going to write this for myself (writing truly is therapeutic), but I mixed some WC in it and turned it into a one-shot. It's not really related to any particular story in the series, just the silver lining. Portrays somewhat of an alternate reality.

Enjoy and review please!

Soph

* * *

><p>We all lie.<p>

Everyday.

Most of the time we don't even know we're doing it; it has become a habit. Routine. We've been doing it for so long, we _don't know_ any different. We don't expect any different. In fact, when something in our routine changes, we act indignant. Shocked.

But that behavior is yet another lie. Because we are not shocked by the change that has occurred, but by the secret joy it gives us. And we hide that lie, with another lie: "I can not believe that just happened!"

Yes, we all lie.

The difference between conmen and most other people, however, is that they _do know_ the difference. Their skill is lies. Lying. To both tell a perfect lie and to spot even the best of lies. It is what they do with that skill that makes them good or bad.

Not knowing their own lies, makes people so easy to deceit. Be not mistaken, for 'gullible' is not the word I am referring to and neither is 'naïve'. In fact, gullible and naïve makes it harder to deceit, for there is a certain lack of excitement and you are therefore tempted to let your guard down for real – just this once.

No, it is the sophisticated ones that are easy, the ambitious, the dreamer.

You tell them them what they want to hear and show them what they want to see. This would be harder, were it not for the fact that people really, truly, mostly just want the same thing: appreciation.

You smile, you crack a few jokes, you turn serious when you're about to tell your lie – their truth. You play a little with you hands, look down shyly a few times, play with you hair nervously one too many times, just to make them believe you're really feeling the pressure of exposing yourself, of being vulnerable just this one time – especially for them.

When they speak, you nod as if their words are the truest of them all. You enlarge your eyes – never leaving their gaze – as if their intelligence shocks you somehow; make them feel special and underrated at the same time.

And then you're in.

You are wanted around to make that person stop feeling underrated. To make that person feel like he or she is being valued, by at least one other person, for their intelligence, their wit, their abilities, their knowledge: For their being.

The fact that people are easy to deceive, has helped him countless times in the past. Has abled him to live the life he is living now; the penthouse suite, the million dollar view, the exclusive clubs, the ease and comfort to spend without worry, the gentle tingling of his tongue by colorful flavor explosions created by the only the top of chefs: The full agenda and the empty life.

What used to be fun, new, exciting – necessary even – has now become _his_ habit. _His_ lie. It is his skill to spot lies – including his own – that makes it _his _sorrow. The conman's skill is both a gift and a curse, as the skill is being overshadowed by his own brilliance: He can tell the lie convincingly, make the world believe it, he can even live the lie – but he cannot believe it, try as he might.

He once swore that money would make him feel fulfilled. He once dreamed that a beautiful sunset view would make him start his days happy. He once thought that this life would be worth living.

He never would have thought the best years of his life would be the ones he lived six years ago, strapped on a two-mile radius leash. Living in another person's home, for he could never have one of his own. Working another man's job, for he could never work for the law. Dating another man's woman, for he could never be settled down. Having dinners with another man's family, for there was no way he ever belonged to one.

But even now, Neal knew he was lying: They weren't another man's belongings; they were his. His home, his job, his woman and his family. And he's lost them.

All because he could not stop playing the game of deception.

And now here he was. Only now, he was deceiving himself.

Neal got up from his sofa – pointed at his great glass wall, decorated to allow himself to enjoy his once so-longed-for view. He put down his glass of bourbon on his salon table and turned to walk to his bedroom. He was going to try and sleep the emptiness away for bourbon had stopped being able to fill it, a long time ago.

It was almost as if the moon was giving an answer to an unsaid prayer, as it's light has demanded his attention and directed it to the great mirror hanging on the wall at the end of the hallway. The light shining on him from a diagonal angle, made him look slightly younger. It brightened his eyes, made the tiny grey hairs that had started growing around his temple disappear and it rejuvenated his kin. In that moment, Neal was reminded of the person he once was. The life he once had. One filled with art, literature, good wines, good food, New York. One where he had people he could share all of that with.

He felt how it started in his chest. How the sadness spread and met with the frustration he felt starting in his fingertips. How the frustration moved quickly through his veins and turned into anger when it met with the alcohol.

The wave of emotions was too big for his body to handle and he lashed out. His arms reaching for the barstools and the adrenaline enabling him to throw them across the apartment. His eyes met the bottles standing in the corner of the bar and his arms followed an order his mind didn't give, and shoved the bottles from the bar. They shattered to the ground and gave a quick but spectacular show of flying glass and dancing liquids. His fist hits the wall of the pillar on the edge of the bar with great power and the pain that shot up his knuckles and spiraled to his lower arm caused him to growl a scream. Anger has faded and made place for frustration. Frustration then faded and made room for pain. But it wasn't the pain from his broken hand.

He tried to stretch his fingers, but felt an even worse sting of pain shoot through his arm. He needed to get himself to the ER.

Neal pulled up to the parking lot of the LA County General and tightened the hand-towel he had used to stop the bleeding, around his knuckles.

At the ER nurses station, Neal was greeted by tired eyes that revived at his sight. He would have smiled back sooner, if he weren't taken back by the hazel tints that swam lost between the green of her eyes. The image of Sara that filled his mind, just for a second, was enough to make his chest instantly feel heavier.

"Good evening, how can I help you?"

"I uh…" He closed his eyes for a moment and sighed, when had lying become such an effort? He was too tired to try, "I hit my fist against the wall and I think I broke my hand. Just need a few braces and I'll be good to go." He knew his smile didn't reach his eyes and he knew it disappeared from his face far too quickly for it to even be real, but the nurse perked up nonetheless.

"Of course, the doctor will be right with you. Is there anyone we can call for you? You won't be able to drive with your hand all covered in braces."

"No, no, it's just me. I'll get a cab." That stung.

If possible, her smile turned brighter as she pointed him to the waiting area. "Alright then, why don't you take a seat?"

Neal gave a quick nod before he turned and walked towards the waiting room. He rested his head on the wall and closed his eyes. What the hell had become of him? Where did he go? When did he lose himself?

Luckily for him, he didn't have much time to think of answers to those questions as he heard a loud screaming coming closer. The screaming woman reached the nurses station and gasped for air: "Baby! Coming! Early!" She screamed with one hand supporting her lower belly and one hand pointing at it.

The nurse rushed a wheelchair over to her and helped her get into it. "Alright, breathe now! Breathe!" The nurse bent over to reach the woman's eyelevel and gave her instructions on how to breathe properly.

"El?" The yelling voice that came from far had Neal's heart stop beating.

"Honey! Here!" Her words were pleading pants between her gasps for air.

The man approached her and she shook her hair from her face to meet his lips. And that's when the world stopped turning too.

For the second time this evening, his muscled seemed to have their own agenda and he stood up. Barely even feeling how he was walking over to them. Barely even knowing that he was now facing them. Barely aware that the three of them shared the same facial expression.

"AAAHHHHH!" Her cry made them all jump and the nurse rushed Elizabeth to the maternity ward.

The women left Peter and Neal in a staring gaze. They weren't trying to "out-stare" the other and they weren't trying to assess one another. No, it was themselves they were assessing. Their emotions, their questions, their thoughts.

"PETER!"

They jumped up again and Peter awkwardly ran to his wife, while trying not to let go of his gaze. He stepped into the elevator and finally it were the doors that cut their contact.

Neal gave his body time to get rid of the weakness in his knees and the haze in his brain. Then he took off to the elevators.

The biggest lie we can tell, is to ourselves. The biggest pain we can inflict, is on ourselves. Somewhere down the line, we stop being us and start being them: The ones they want us to be.

Only now, Neal realized, the person they wanted him to be, was the person he wanted himself to be.


End file.
